


The sense of the embrace

by theseatheseatheopensea



Category: UK Cities (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: Gen, Magical Realism, Personified Cities, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21609778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseatheseatheopensea/pseuds/theseatheseatheopensea
Summary: The city is alive. The city has an angel.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 18
Collections: Yuletide Madness 2019





	The sense of the embrace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hydrangea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangea/gifts).



> Hi hydrangea! I wrote this story with a huge "I want to go here" vibe, so I hope it's good enough to be a love letter of sorts to Newcastle. Thank you for such an inspiring prompt, and happy holidays!  
> *  
> This story was inspired by [the Angel of the North](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angel_of_the_North) sculpture and [Here comes a city](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7NBnzJsTu-o), by The Go-Betweens (which is about German cities, but I think it still fits really well).  
> *  
> Thank you to [thisbluespirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbluespirit) for beta reading, inspiring words, priceless UK knowledge, and all-around awesomeness! (Also to [thisbluespirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbluespirit)'s mum, for the bit about the angel needing a good wash!).

_"People are always asking, why an angel? The only response I can give is that no-one has ever seen one and we need to keep imagining them."_

\- Antony Gormley, [speaking about his sculpture "The Angel of The North"](https://web.archive.org/web/20070329022334/http://www.gateshead.gov.uk/Leisure%20and%20Culture/Angel/Background2.aspx).

*

Under the seven bridges, the river is hiding.

The river is black. The castle is no more, but the castle remains. The city is the castle, if you will. The city has an old house and a pack of cigarettes. It has bricks walls and a red metal door. Hard concrete and steel heart. Hard steps and steel life.

The city looks up. The smoke in the sky sends a signal. The sky is metal red too, and the wind blows like regret. The ashes fall like rain. The city takes a step forward, and it starts.

The city starts. And the city has a fading light. The city works in the dark. It's honest and straight-forward. It knows what to do.

It knows how to live.

*

Here comes a city. The city comes from the north, like the wind. The city has eyes that change with the weather. The city brings its maps and its books. It travels far. It shouts, it spits out the truth, like coal, like tar. The city is full of rain. The city is full of ghosts.

The city is moving sideways. Leaving. Past the station and the telephone wires and the trees and the rivers. All the rivers and all the ghosts, right there, outside the window. Waving goodbye.

The city breathes in the railways and the steel, and the steel sparks and howls. Here are the crowds and the block towers and the poetry and the stories and the places. The days and the nights. Here comes a city of smoke and hope and forgetfulness. Here comes a city with tired eyes. Here comes a city at night.

Here comes the heart of the city.

The heart of the city is hidden in the brick walls. The heart of the city is in the tunnels. And the city pushes its heart away, into the arms of another city. The city pushes its heart away. But the night is bright. And the sky is bright. And the faces are bright. And the railway casts shadows. And the shadows make memories.

And the city finds its memories. The city remembers the names of all its ghosts.

The city is bright. The city is black and white. The city is loaded, and it laughs and it drowns. The city is wrapped up in rags, but it doesn't give up. Time makes it fade, but the city is still here. And the city stands up, and the city says _let's make history._

And the night says _don't push me away._

And the sky says—

*

Here is the heart of the city, sharpened with sandpaper. Here is the heart of the city, found once again.

*

The city closes down. The city sleeps. The city is alive. The city is built on gritty hope and coal and lost things. And the city will last forever.

And the city has an angel. The angel is across the river. The angel is always there. Day after day, everyone can see it, and everyone sees a different thing. But they all see the hopeful gesture of the wings. They all feel the sense of the embrace.

But why an angel?

But why not?

The angel shields its eyes. The angel has metal tears. The angel's hands are dirty, they need a good wash. But the angel is kind, it watches over the city. The angel is tired, but it's coppery and warm. The angel lives in the north, in the heart of the city. The angel doesn't really like concrete, it has a green hilltop cathedral. It finds the hidden river. The angel plays football with all the little boys. The angel finds the heart of the city.

The angel makes a steel heart.

The angel was born in the past. The angel was born in the wind. The angel stretches its wings and it says _let's go. Let's fly_.

The angel wants to last forever. And the city returns the angel's embrace.

The night is silent, and all the colours bleed. And here comes a city. Here comes a black city, a dark city, a bright city. Here comes a city, and all the cities are bright, and all the cities are here. And they fly, all though the night. They fly with the angel, rising like a phoenix from the ashes. They cross the river, they bring back the fire. They keep imagining all the stories, hiding in the steel, hiding in the spark.


End file.
